


A Nice Dress for a Ride

by hobbitdragon



Series: Witcher Fics [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dresses, Genderplay, Geralt wants to give Lambert something special, Lambert is maybe genderqueer in this it's open to interpretation, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Rimming, but Lambert is DEFINITELY a troll as always, so he commissions a dress for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25523347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon/pseuds/hobbitdragon
Summary: In which Geralt gets Lambert a gift.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Series: Witcher Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731811
Comments: 29
Kudos: 124
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	A Nice Dress for a Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TrashyTime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyTime/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this, Trashy! I was excited to get to write something for you.

When Geralt let himself into the tailor’s home, he found Elihal bent over the big table in the front room. The fabric pieces of what Geralt guessed might someday be a doublet lay spread out on the surface for assembly. When Elihal looked up, the slow smile he gave Geralt made Geralt certain this had been worth the trip. 

“Ah, my dear witcher, what can I do for you this time? Not after more of Dandelion’s flames, I hope?”

“Thankfully no,” Geralt grimaced at the memory. “No, I’m...I’m here for your expertise.”

“I have a great deal of that. But which expertise are you here for today?”

Geralt knew for a fact there was nobody else in the house, he would have heard them if so, and nobody close to the house even outside. He glanced around anyway out of pure defensive reflex. 

“Dresses. For, uh, someone of my build.”

The look of wide-eyed and almost hungry delight on the elf’s face made Geralt’s cheeks heat. 

“Oh ho, now here is a turn-up for the books!” Elihal grinned. “I’ve heard all sorts of things about witchers, but this is by far the best.”

“It’s--it’s not for me,” Geralt protested. “Not that I wouldn't. I would, but--but it’s not for me, truly. It’s, uh. It’s for--another witcher. As a gift.”

“Ah, is that the game we’re playing,” Elihal chuckled, clearly not believing Geralt. 

“It truly isn’t for me!” Geralt protested. “I bring it up because while his build is similar to mine, it’s not quite the same, so you’ll need to make it with that in mind. I figured--I don’t know much about clothes, but I figured you could make it to fit someone of my build, but constructed in such a way that it’d also fit someone whose measurements are a little different.”

At last, Elihal seemed to believe Geralt’s protestations, because the elf’s eyebrows went up and an expression of interest settled onto his features. 

“Mm, that is a good challenge. At what sort of occasion would this dress be worn? Is this to be for everyday wear among working folk, or is this a gown for a gathering of the nobility? Should I construct it to conceal the body beneath, to create the illusion of curves and breasts, or will its viewers know exactly who is wearing it?”

“Simple fabric,” Geralt directed, because while Corvo Bianco was starting to earn money on its own via its cellars and orchards, he still wasn’t rolling in coin yet. “Black for the most part, but with accents of gold and red. Gold especially, up near the chest and shoulders, to bring out his eyes. And I’d like it if he could wear it in public if he wanted to, maybe with the benefit of a veil, so I guess constructed to--I don’t know how this works. Make his hips look bigger than they are?”

“Just so,” Elihal agreed. “I assume this witcher of yours will require all the things ladies wear _underneath_ their dresses too? Or does he have those already?”

“He’ll need those too,” Geralt sighed, mentally adding more coin to the total for this project. But he could afford it these days, really, and there was plenty of work to be picked up on the way back to Toussaint. And even if Lambert hated the gift for some reason, Geralt would feel no guilt over giving Elihal the coin. “And some headgear to put the veil on, and the veil itself,” he added finally, because if he was doing this, he ought to do it right. 

“Wonderful. Well then! I have a book of patterns, and I can walk you through which elements of which dresses can be made to fit two different bodies of similar build. Then, to make sure you get exactly what you want, you can walk with me over to the fabric merchant to select the fabrics. And you can tell me all about this witcher of yours as we go!”

Geralt could hardly refuse the request, so when Elihal hauled out a large book of illustrations of various patterns he had, Geralt did his best to select something pretty.

**

Two weeks later, after Geralt had taken contracts all around and throughout the city, he returned to Novigrad to see what Elihal had made. 

Seeing the dress and undergarments and veil all laid out together, it certainly _looked_ very pretty. The fabrics themselves were plain and a little rough but dyed with great skill. The deep, rich gold of the accents would look lovely on any witcher, and that combined with the blood-red of the other accent panels gave the dress an illusion of it being made of richer stuff than it was. 

Keenly self-conscious, Geralt allowed Elihal to show him how to get into and out of the garments. When fully kitted up, the outfit covered Geralt from neck to toes and somehow both hid his shoulders and arms while creating the illusion of full, round hips Geralt in no way had. He considered it a masterpiece, and told Elihal as much. 

“The secret cost of this, of course, is that you _must_ come back later to tell me how he takes it,” Elihal said with a pleased smile.

That, along with the small heap of silver coins, seemed like a fair price to Geralt. So with a lighter purse and a heavier pack, he took the dress and went south to Toussaint for the winter. 

**

Lambert arrived in Corvo Bianco with his customary passel of complaints. It had rained for the last two days, so Geralt could understand Lambert’s grumpiness. Lambert was muddy up to his thighs from the splatter of the road, with blotches all over his armor and cloak. It would take a tremendous amount of washing, and in the meantime he was damp and cold and upset. 

But B.B. fetched hot bathwater for Lambert, and knew enough about serving witchers by now that he let Lambert himself heat the water to his liking. Lambert stripped out of his clothes with eager haste, and Geralt and Eskel took the wet pile away, racked the armor and swords, and hung the clothes to dry by the fire. 

Then Geralt fetched out his gift for Lambert. Eskel was already aware of it, and a soft smile lit his face at the sight. He lifted his eyebrows at Geralt as if to silently say, _Can’t wait to see what he thinks._

Geralt laid it out over a chair, with all the underclothes and everything else folded underneath the skirt. Then Geralt took the meal B.B. and Marlene had assembled for Lambert and dismissed the servants out of the house with thanks. B.B. sent an indulgent smile at Geralt and Eskel as he departed for the night; he (and probably Marlene too, even though she did not handle the laundry as B.B. did) knew exactly what it meant when he was dismissed from the house this early in the evening. 

When Lambert emerged from the tub, toweled dry and still naked, to sit down to a meal in front of the roaring fireplace, Geralt and Eskel cast appreciative looks at him. Geralt could pick out a few new scars but nothing concerning, and Lambert was otherwise in glorious form. He groaned happily as he ate his way through the spread, not even having noticed what lay on the chair nearby. 

When he finished, his curls starting to appear as his hair dried without any grease to keep it flat, he settled into his chair in a louche sprawl and sent a suggestive look at the other two witchers. 

“So. Got anything for dessert?”

“You had the dessert, it was the scones,” Geralt replied tartly. But he smiled at Lambert and stood out of his chair, moving into the V of Lambert’s knees. Lambert was already thickening. Clearly he’d been thinking about what he wanted after dinner before he’d even finished it. “I won’t hear a word of criticism about Marlene’s excellent baking.”

“Is that your way of saying there’s better things I can do with my mouth?” Lambert grinned.

“Actually,” Geralt said, even as a twinge of anxiety went through him. Now the moment had arrived, what if Lambert didn’t like the gift? “I do have something nice for you, now you’ve finished eating.”

“I mean your dick’s _okay,”_ Lambert said, still grinning. “It’s not as good as Eskel’s, though. So unless Eskel’s dick is what you’ve got for me...”

This got a snigger out of Eskel and an eyeroll out of Geralt. Rather than trying to explain, Geralt simply picked up the whole chair bearing the outfit and plopped it down next to Lambert’s. 

Lambert’s eyes slid away from Geralt’s face and fell onto the dress, resting there for a moment with no response, and then his brow furrowed in puzzlement. 

“You got me a chair, how thoughtful of you,” he joked, but his expression wasn’t mocking. In silence, he picked up the gown, running one thumb over the gold and red accents, the buttons at the wrists, the lacing of the bodice. He lifted it, clearly eyeballing its size and realizing what it was. 

“Is this--is this made for me?”

“Yeah,” Geralt said. “Had it done special. I know a tailor who’s open-minded. Tried it on myself for the fittings, to make sure it’d fit you.”

This got a slow grin back onto Lambert’s face. “Did you really.”

He stood, lifting the dress so the skirt fell down in front of him to its full length. Then he saw the items underneath it, all the pale fine linen. 

“Wow, you really committed to this joke, huh,” he said, again not sounding as if he was actually laughing. Color suffused his cheeks, and his cock hadn’t calmed any. 

“Not a joke,” Geralt said. “Just thought you’d like it. There’s a veil, too--in case you ever want to wear it outside.”

“Normally you just call me ugly to my face rather than getting me to cover up,” Lambert sniped again, but it was just reflexive, and there was something hungry in his face as he lifted the head-dress and translucent veil. “This--this is--”

For once he seemed to be at a loss for words as he lifted the shift up to his nose and breathed in the fresh, clean smell of it. Either the laundress or Elihal had scented it with some perfume, and it still carried a faint odor of flowers despite the distance it had traveled in Geralt's pack. 

Saying nothing else, Lambert slipped the shift over his head, pulling it down into place. Standing as he was in front of the fire, the light outlined his body through the fabric in addition to the linen catching on and accentuating his rising erection. Somehow it was even more erotic seeing Lambert half-concealed this way than just seeing him bare.

Geralt dropped into Lambert’s abandoned chair and rubbed at his own cock. When he glanced over to his left, he saw that Eskel was doing the same. 

Next came the petticoats, ruffled around the hips to help support the curvy shape of the dress. Lambert didn’t bother with the drawers, leaving them on the chair and instead donning the gown next. Its bodice laced tight and Lambert pulled the strings with expert enthusiasm until the gown had fully settled into place, accentuating his slim waist before puffing out to hide his slender hips. 

Peering down at himself, Lambert brushed his hands thoughtfully over the skirt before gathering it up in his hands and marching around the room. He rolled his shoulders before falling into a fighting stance and stepping through the beginning of a training form. 

“Damn!” Lambert said at last, in a tone of clear delight. “Not just nice to look at! I can move just fine, and I could hide a whole selection of daggers in the skirts. The black would even hide most of the bloodstains if I had to kill someone in this.”

Geralt rolled his eyes again but truthfully he was just as pleased as Lambert himself. Unlacing the front of his breeches, Geralt pulled his shirt off and moved up close to where Lambert stood, sliding his palms over the dress’s hips before settling one of them on the belly just above the bulge of Lambert's erection. 

“Well, my lady,” Geralt said quietly. “I don’t suppose you might be interested in some amorous company?”

“Only just got me into the dress and you’re already trying to get me out of it,” Lambert snorted. He clutched his skirts tight around him, peering judgmentally over his shoulder at Geralt.

“No,” Geralt shook his head. “Was thinking you’d leave it on.”

Lambert’s pupils visibly widened, vertical slits belling out into something almost round. For about half a second he looked vulnerable, as he stared wide-eyed at Geralt, and then the crack in the façade was smoothed away under a smarmy look Lambert cast back and forth between Geralt and Eskel. 

Pulling out of Geralt's grasp, Lambert turned and bent over the table, hiking the skirts and shift up over his backside. With his legs pressed together and the dress making his waist so small, the heart-shape of his ass and thighs looked curvaceous and plump. The familiarity of his scars was almost shocking, somehow, contrasted against the unfamiliar sight of him in the dress.

“Well this cunny isn’t gonna lick itself,” Lambert informed them. 

With a laugh Eskel rose from his seat, moving over to the table and bending down to give Lambert a kiss. Even engrossed in Eskel’s skillful kisses, Lambert still wiggled his hips and beckoned Geralt over with one hand. 

Geralt took the suggestion with good grace, kneeling behind Lambert and wrapping his hands around both buttocks, spreading them wide to reveal the dusky hole between them. He admired the familiar sight for a moment, recalling how it had looked much the same the first time Geralt had ever seen it. Lambert had been twenty-six, and had finally gotten lonely enough during a long winter to fuck some of the other surviving witchers. More than three decades had passed since then. 

Lambert still smelled just the same. Even freshly washed with the lingering scent of the soap clinging to his skin, the animal musk of his most private place rolled up and enveloped Geralt's nose. Incensed by that familiar scent, Geralt buried his face in the warm furrow, pressing his tongue to the hole and waiting for it to flex open for him. When it did, he slipped right into the hot, tight opening. 

Geralt got one hand around the head of Lambert’s erection and positioned the other with the thumb pressed right behind Lambert’s balls. Geralt pushed into the soft flesh there. Lambert shivered, arching back into Geralt’s touch. His groan was muffled into Eskel’s mouth. 

To Geralt it seemed as though he’d barely gotten into the rhythm of it before Lambert was coming the first time. With a sharp punchy noise, the tender furl of him clenched around Geralt’s tongue, cock jumping against Geralt’s palm as semen ran down his forearm and dripped off his elbow. Good thing he’d taken his shirt off already, Geralt thought vaguely as his own prick ached with arousal. 

“Fuck,” Lambert swore, loud in the quiet house. Only the pop and crackle of the logs in the fireplace accompanied his heavy breathing. “Fuck, don’t stop--”

The demand was unnecessary. Geralt kept right on going, pushing just a little harder with his thumb and thrusting a little deeper with his tongue. Barely any time seemed to pass before Lambert came again, this time with a series of long groans of increasingly high pitch. He slammed one fist on the table, furious as usual with the intensity of it. Then he came a third time, unexpectedly, right on the heels of the second, gasping and thrusting desperately back into Geralt’s face. 

Dizzy with his own arousal, Geralt stood, shoving his breeches down and getting his cock out. 

“Let me--” he begged, looking wild-eyed at Eskel in the hopes that he’d take the hint and get some slick for them to use. “Will you let me?” Geralt asked, rubbing himself over Lambert’s spit-soaked tailbone. 

But Lambert slipped neatly out from under Geralt, twisting away from the table. In shock, Geralt watched as within a few seconds Lambert had snatched up the headdress, the drawers, and Eskel’s dry boots and socks from beside the door. 

“Thanks for the lovely evening, boys. It’s not raining anymore, so I’m going to go for a ride!” Lambert grinned. He waggled his eyebrows at them, and then vanished out the front door. "I trust you two can entertain yourselves without me," he called as he departed.

For several long moments Geralt stared after Lambert, and then turned his gaze on Eskel. Eskel, one hand down his own breeches, met Geralt’s shocked stare and burst into laughter. 

“Well, at least he likes your present,” Eskel said, and Geralt had to concede the point. 

By the time Lambert returned, his new dress smelling like crisp night air and horse, Eskel and Geralt were settled into bed together with a book. Despite that, they set it aside when Lambert declared that he wanted his second ride of the evening, this time wearing neither boots nor drawers.

By the end of it Lambert's petticoats and shift were a mess. But B.B. had long since resigned himself to certain qualities of witcher laundry, and the stains would all come out in the wash. 

**

When Geralt returned to Novigrad more than a year later, he made sure to stop by the little shop near the Tretogor gate. 

“My goodness, White Wolf, it’s been quite some time since your handsome face graced my home,” Elihal purred. “Tell me, how was your gift received?”

“Warmly,” Geralt smiled. “It's seen such good use that I’m here to buy a second dress.”

Elihal greeted both the list of new specifications and the heavy coinpurse with pleasure.


End file.
